i wanted the kind of love nothing earthly
could ever give me. my body— it isn’t made
of adam or eve or sticks and stones like whoever
god says it is. wanting to peel off my skinsuit
seems the real original sin.

i wonder where i actually go when i lose
the heft of my balloon breasts and the ringing in my
ears— a hypothalamic earth i sculpted in gold
once and returned to when i wanted to practice
kissing friends on a hot pink brookstone pillow?

i whisper your name to myself when i straddle
it now, stroking smelted gold stars on your
back with my tingling pinkies. i’m lightyears
from feeling fleshy when i think, i’d love for my
thighs to meet your cheekbones sometime.